


Misery and Maker

by murdergatsby



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Admiration, Heartbreak, M/M, Pining, Pre-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, The Frozen Lake of Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-15 23:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21261521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdergatsby/pseuds/murdergatsby
Summary: Lucifer- bringer of light, star of morning- was made of one towering, frostbitten body, wings larger than Hannibal’s line of sight, and a head of three faces. All faces- pained, euphoric, and powerful- held the likeness of Will Graham.Written for the Ravage FANthology.





	Misery and Maker

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago, and I haven't read it myself in that same amount of time. I hope you all enjoy it the same way I did ♡♡

The cold made it easy. Hannibal’s bare foot came down with the same grace of a casual step, and made glass of the skull of the man stuck in the ice in front him. The tops of Hannibal’s feet became freckled with powdery red ice, not blood or guts, and his blackened soles met with similarly blackened and brittle skin, hair, and the crisp fluid left within the man’s head- fluid that once held his vitality.

Hannibal thought it curious, at first. All around him were bodies like his, left to freeze and become swallowed the ever whipping snow and hale. He took time to ponder how long this particular person had been resting in this bitter and unforgiving wind chill before he became so fragile like this, and so unrecognizably real.

His feelings then settled into complete dissatisfaction; the action didn’t have the spark he wanted it to. He wanted the blood and guts, he wanted the exertion. He didn’t want to ponder or  _ be curious _ . The visual of a human turned into nothing more than dirty snow did not lift the feeling of tense dread building in his chest like a descending avalanche.

Hannibal moved on, raising his eye to the creature before him- one he had made note to ignore, despite understanding it was the cause of the dread, the wind, and keeper of all these frozen bodies.

It whipped its dark and sparsely-feathered wings in irritation, like a bird trapped by its leg. Only, this beast was trapped at his waist. It was swallowed up like everything else.

Lucifer- bringer of light, star of morning- was made of one towering, frostbitten body, wings larger than Hannibal’s line of sight, and a head of three faces. The faces spewed from him where a being of humanity would have ears, and they were twisted, tormented, and hysterical- like sculptures only mocking human expression.

The one on the left seemed swept up in pride and the other seemed locked within strenuous agony. Both expelled howls that accompanied their unique experiences, and the song they made together was just as overbearing as the physical atmosphere they created with their struggle to be free. It brought up a taught, contagious anxiety that summoned the hair on the nape of Hannibal’s neck to stand at the ready; it was a primal response to unknown danger, and something Hannibal wasn’t terribly familiar with feeling.

The face in the middle was different, though. It seemed peaceful, and focused. Its eyes fell on Hannibal with the same gentle and curious gaze that Hannibal had given the skull he crushed. It was an expression that walked the line of interest and indifference, love and pity. It was powerful and it made Hannibal feel small- as he was, positioned below him and victim to its nature.

All faces- pained, euphoric, and powerful- held the likeness of Will Graham.

This didn’t surprise Hannibal.

Hannibal had often related  _ himself _ to Lucifer. Lucifer was one of God’s finest: created in his image and expected to act as such. However, Lucifer and God were not of the same compass. Lucifer was fueled by passion and self-worship, not compassion and constitution. God still loved him, though. He banished him and bound him, but never destroyed him as he could have- as he maybe  _ should _ have. He spared Lucifer and allowed him to continue his vile actions, and create his sins- his demons- in an attempt to push God and humanity past their breaking point. That fearless defiance resonated with Hannibal.

With Will, however, Hannibal felt more akin to a God; not  _ the _ God, but one of his own. With Will, he felt power and peace, and none of the itch of antsy boredom that had gnawed at his heels since childhood. Will kept him on his toes and inspired him- Warmed him from his heart. Hannibal created Will, polished him bright, and taught him all he could ever want to know.

Then, Will betrayed him.

He had to have things his own way.

Seeing Hannibal’s hesitancy to take in his glory first- watching Hannibal’s eyes  _ settle _ on him like an afterthought- brought Will the same scratching dissatisfaction that Hannibal had received just moments before. He wanted the shock and awe, he wanted the respect.

Will beat his wings in larger, more complete circles, whipping up shards of ice and bone. They hurled towards Hannibal, but did not wound him. Not yet.

Even without words, the statement was clear:  _ Pay attention to me. I’m why you’re here.  _ Hannibal couldn’t help but nod in agreement, and walk on.

Hannibal kept his eyes on Will’s, and watched Will’s follow him too. He stopped only when he was stationed at the base of Will’s torso- bruised and torn from the ice walls that clung to him. The climate was more bearable there than it was around him; it was calmer, still, and almost felt like safety. He understood he was standing in the eye of the storm, and only protected by geographical circumstance. This wasn’t special treatment.

Will brought one of his hands down by Hannibal’s side, angling his palm towards him. His nails were jagged and full of filth-  _ claws _ , may have been a better claim- but his open palm seemed soft, and unlabored. Will had the rough hands of a fisherman, but his touch had always felt the way these hands looked. It was inviting, forgiving, and the energy his skin radiated had the familiarity and heat of the hearth. His grasp was  _ sanctuary _ .

Willingly, Hannibal climbed into his hand and let Will raise him to his eye level. They looked into each other, as they had a hundred times before, and Hannibal felt tears suddenly well against the borders of his eyes. The tears didn’t come from a place of sadness, or even fear, but from the sheer beauty of it all- of everything that surrounded him, and being in front of Will like this. The tears came from his chest, spilling from his heart.

Will was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. He was the most beautiful human he’d ever felt. He was his muse, his soulmate, his misery, and now his maker. He was unlike anything Hannibal had ever hoped to experience.

As the tears spilled from Hannibal’s eyes, they crystallized and burned Hannibal’s cheeks. He smiled softly through it, and Will smiled back at him. Hannibal’s couldn’t take it.

Hannibal’s gaze fell down the length of Will’s body, looking back to where his flesh met with the ice. From this height, Hannibal could see the way Will’s centuries-thrashing body had allowed the ice to tear into him. On the surface, it was just bruises and cuts in his skin. Under the thick ice that bound him, however, Hannibal could make out the red of Will’s insides spilling into the sea that once was. They still moved, like they had a curent. Will’s heart was still beating.

A shrill, spiking laughter left the mouth of the proud-face, and brought Hannibal’s attention back to his destiny- and Will’s soft smile. Will would, or course, survive the vicious wound he was being left with. He had been surviving it. God bound him here to punish him, not to kill him.

Because, God still loved him.

Hannibal knew he would survive this, too.

Will brought Hannibal to his mouth, and brought his teeth down over Hannibal’s shoulders.

\---

Hannibal opened his eyelids and immediately blinked away the tears that had built up under them. He stood in the entrance of his kitchen, beside Abigail. She was crying, too; she ran her lips tightly over her teeth in a fruitless attempt to stop herself.

Hannibal could see the way her pounding heart moved in her chest. He could see the way she was trembling. His whole home smelled of bitter iron, blood, and fear. Abigail had been waiting so patiently for this night; too patiently to be crying about it. Hannibal thought to tell her that  _ it would be alright _ , just to lessen her worries, but he didn’t get the chance.

Hannibal heard a car door open and slam, and he knew it was Will. Abigail heard it too, and her shoulders jumped. She looked to Hannibal for advice on what to do- where to go, where to stand,  _ should I say something? _

But, she already knew.

Hannibal simply smiled, and held a single finger to his lips. Abigail nodded in agreement, as she watched Hannibal fall back into the shadows of his home.

_ Will would survive this, too. _

_ Because, God still loves him. _


End file.
